Being The Bigger Man

I put on a lot of weight, quite rapidly, over the past two months. It was sudden and unexpected. One day I noticed that my jeans were a bit snug. The next week I just could not let myself out in them unless I wore a pair of stretchy briefs over the fly like Superman. So I went to the stall (I don’t buy jeans from stores because I am not Kanye West) and purchased two pairs, two inches wider in waist circumference.


Ma Harblz. Aka Deez Nuts


I thought I was done.

But two weeks later I was back. This thing was bulging out of control. I was inflating like petrol prices. My midriff was growing surely but steadily, just like the viewership of the Muwawa Club (Urban TV, 4:30pm daily), the girth of my gut was growing gargantuan.

Which is not a problem in itself. I am not a young man, I deserve a bit of girth. I have been lean as a snake all my life. Surely it is time to look like I make a bit of money at my job.

The problem was in two other areas. The first being that I am not making that much money right now. Alas, like most prosperous corporate drones, I have loans to pay back. One particularly bitter one is keeping me living with my wallet close to the nuts right now. I cannot afford to just go buying new jeans every fortnight. I am not Kanye Fucking West.

Pants that could feed a flock of Ipsums


The other problem was in the design and apportioning of said fat. Instead of a gentle roundening, a smooth general swelling, I was getting a very particular and blatant pot belly.


I do not want a pot belly.

Pot belly does not denote success and contentment. Pot belly is what a school teacher gets. And no matter what school teachers have evolved to lately, no matter how many kind and wise and caring and devoted and noble teachers there are out there today, I am firmly stuck in my prejudice against the profession. What those sick bastards in SMACK and KPS did to us when I was in school, I will never forgive. Fuck teachers.

No offense if you are a good teacher. I don’t mean you.

So here I am with a pot that I must get rid of. I can’t go to a gym. I have loans to pay. I cannot afford gyms, nigga.

I could try jogging and running and such shenanigans, but in addition to broke, I am also lazy.

So what option do I have?
Eat less! That is the perfect solution if you don’t have money to buy rich foods, and have less energy to go to cafes and eat them.

But then I will grow thin. I will not look like a man who is enjoying the finest years of a long and fruitful career. I should have a bit of girth.

Excercise. I need excercise.

I mean, jokes aside, I am not a young man. I need to start taking my health seriously. I can’t live either in front of computer screens (if I am at work) or underneath them (If I am at home watching bootleg movies in bed. Our TV didn’t migrate, bambi.) I need to get live.

So I am going to get a pair of running shoes and act like I still remember how to move fast.
Who knows. Excercise might actually make me more vital, more energetic, and make me stop taking weeks between blog posts.